In between
by Morfanerina
Summary: Hetaoni/Romaheta. "Why are you covered with... blood?" he had to ask. "Because I escaped while the others died." Feliciano's eyes widened "Wha...t?" T for mention of...well, blood.


"Where am I?" Feliciano blinked, looking around the room he was in. The last thing he remembered was Gilbert striking down the altar, pain on his body and then... nothing, blank, nada.

Shrugging, he studied the place, in hopes of seeing someone he knew like Ludwig, or Lovino or big brother Antonio. Unfortunately, he was severely disapointed when he saw that it was only an empty white room with the exception of the altar the albino struck down moments before his... blank. He also noticed with confusion that his clothes had changed, now being white -pure holy white- priest clothes with a red shawl upon his shoulders, a cross on each side.

When he looked at the altar more closely however, he had a feeling there was something different about it, even if he couldn't quite grasp italian nation stepped closer, curiously touching the altar with his hand. Only then did he see what was different. There was a sort of see through glass on it and beyond it he could see something- nothing more than a blurry shape though.

Trying to get a better look, he leaned on the glass, his hands pressing it down when suddenly, the glass rippled like water and he stumbled into another place beyond the altar.

Feliciano yelped in surprise at that and then went pale when he saw the black, dark room. With the little light that the room had he could see that, on the floor, red numbers were strewn about as if a painter had gone bored and decided to go crazy with his red -dark red- paint.

He turned back, wanting to return to that calming white room, only to find himself face to face with a grandfather clock that, for some reason, made him shudder in both fear and disgust. It seemed harmless enough , functioning like it was supposed to (if you didn't count its pointers going backwards that is) but something was screaming at him that it was something bad -dark, dreadfull, unholy - and he stepped back.

The italian heard something behind him and turned again, trembling in fear, white flag already at hand. He blinked when he saw the other person in the room, someone he had not noticed because of the lack of light. 'Perhaps if I ask...'

Carefully, hesitantly, cowardly Feliciano forced himself to ask a question, ready to surrender and run the moment he saw danger "Who..." his voice trembled but he continued the question, reminding himself that he needed to know the situation he was in (hey, he had to have something stuck into his head from Ludwing's training no matter how much of an airhead he was) "Who are you? Where... am I?"

The stranger didn't seem to hear him, watching transfixed a small screen in front of him. Curiously he gave a step to the others direction, trying to get a glimpse of either the others face or what he was watching. Somehow, the other seemed...familiar.

When he had no results at that strategy, and having nowhere to run (he checked three times already) he, relunctantly, decided to try to catch the other's attention"h-hey?" he gave another step towards the person and put a hesitant hand on his shoulder. The result was immediate. The stranger turned around so fast that Feliciano stumbled back and landed on his backside. Unconsciously, he whimpered and started to ask for forgiveness. When nothing happened, he peeked through his closed eyes at the one now facing him and froze.

The hair was tousled and there was a bruise there and here. The clothes -blue, uniform like clothes- were ripped in some places and the colour red -dark, dark red- was splattered in random places and there was a white flag peeking from a pocket also splatered with red -wine red, drenched in it, as if it had been used to stop the flow of something the colour red. A sort of a bible -odd, different, not normal- was on another pocket. If that was not enough, the single curl on the left side of the other's hair and brown eyes he had seen all his life convinced him.

It was himself he was seeing.

Feliciano, for the first time ever, did not even wave his white flag or plead for mercy. He just stood there, staring at the male -himself, because even though it was impossible, he knew those eyes for he saw them since the day of his birth- who, in turn, stared at him just as surprised.

The stranger not stranger was the first to break the stunned silence "Who are you?"

That seemed the key to make his body function again "Feliciano Vargas, also known as North Italy. A-and who are you?.. ve..." the moment the question left his lips he knew he was going to regret.

The other blinked, lethargic at the question, and Feliciano wondered why his... clone seemed so sad, so broken "Veneziano... North Italy..." they stood there again, unbearable silence again in the black, dark room.

"Where are we?" Feliciano ventured, trusting that he would not attack himself (or at least hoping so).

"I don't know... I come here when I need to go back, watching the mistakes I made so that we can get out..." the military clothed Italy received a confused stare as an answer "Are you from another place?" he asked.

"I... came from a white room... ve..." Feliciano fidgeted on the floor uncomfortably. He kept glancing at the numbers on the floor, dread for some reason creeping into his being each time he saw them. To distract himself, he watched as the other Italy stared at the clock behind him intently.

"How lucky" he whispered and the italian couldn't help but utter an "ve?" at the admittance "You have no blood." he pointed to the immaculously white priest like clothes the other had.

"Oh..." 'It's blood, it's really blood? Then the red is all...' he stopped that trail of thought before it went any further. He was already feeling sick. "Why are you covered with... blood?" he had to ask. It seemed wrong to see himself like that and while he had been covered in blood at war (a trauma he didn't want to repeat, thank you very much!) this seemed so, so wrong.

"Because I escaped while the others died." Feliciano's eyes went wide in a silent 'what?', not wanting to believe what he had heard "Until we can get out... when no blood will be spilt... I will come... and be drenched in blood... even if death comes..." tears were falling from the others eyes and the white robed Italy felt pity and fear at the broken, yet determined expression of the other. As if he had nothing more to lose.

"What do you mean?" he probed for another answer despite dreading what he would hear. There was that morbid type of curiosity that was nagging at him and made him want answers.

The other Italy must have known that or, perhaps, he just didn't care, having long been left numb to such matters "Each number... one loop... at least one death..." the grandfather clock suddenly chimed, its sound ominuous in the room. "You should go... away to your friends..." Veneziano, drenched in blood, with a bruise on his face, stared down at the other Italy who trembled at the gaze -wrong, broken, lonely gaze.

"W-wha? Ve!" faster than he was expecting, Feliciano felt the other tug on him and then push him in the direction of the clock. Instead of feeling the glass on his back like he was expecting though, he felt as if he entered water again.

The last thing Feliciano heard was the other North Italy warning him of something.

-».«-

"Pasta!" Feliciano yelled as he woke up. "Huh?" he blinked when he saw the annoyed violet eyes of the Russian nation. "Gah!" he started pleading (much to the other nations' annoyance), his brother having joined him (with a lot of more swear words though) when he noticed only the two nordic nations were there. Eventually they all calmed down and it was explained to everyone the situation they were in by Kiku.

He didn't remember it, the priest thing and he felt guilt of the trouble he caused. He whined to Kiku, scared of Ludwig's reaction to it, trying to ignore the feeling of forgettfulness. Although he said he didn't remember anything, there was something stuck to him, a warning about a mansion. He brushed it off his mind, not deeming it worthy of much thought, putting pasta in its place.

_"Never enter the mansion. For your sake."_

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><p><em>Disclaimer: <em>I don't own Romaheta, Hetaoni or Axis Power Hetalia.

I'm not even sure why I wrote this instead of writing more chapters for my other stories DX Why did Hetaoni and Romaheta have to be so damn addictive!

Worse yet... I don't think this is anything good DX I think I failed at putting what I wanted in this.

I think I don't need to say what the clock does right? I think religiously it would be considered unholy and well... priest clothes, altar... yeah I'll shut up now...


End file.
